Obituary for Herbert James Small
Herbert James Small
Peacefully at Marianhill Residence, Pembroke on Thursday November 10, 2002 at the age of 88 years. Herbert Small of Pembroke dear brother of Austin (Phil) Small (Margaret) and the late Mary Dulong (late James). Loving uncle to Michelle, Christine, Jim, Andy, Dan, Brenda, Gail, Glen and Marsha. Son of the late William James and Elizabeth (nee Devlin) Small.
A Funeral Mass will be celebrated on Monday morning at 10:30 a.m. in St. Columbkille’s Cathedral, Pembroke. Interment St. Columba’s Cemetery.
A sincere thank you to Dr. Needham and the staff of 3RD Medical of the Pembroke Regional Hospital and the staff at Marianhill for the care and compassion shown to our brother.
In memory of Herbert, donations to Marianhill would be appreciated. Arrangements entrusted to the Murphy Funeral Home, Pembroke.
Dear Herb,
You were six feet, two inches tall, but for most of your life you were one of God’s little ones. In your late teens you drifted into some form of mental illness and were never able to escape from that depressed state. Shock treatments merely left you with a strong desire to stay away from places where they did that to people. I know that these have helped some people, but they were not for you.
When I think of our early years, before your illness, I recall the times we used to play catch together. We bought a catcher’s mitt and one regular baseball glove and often pretended we were in a game where you were the catcher and I was the pitcher. I wish we had been on a real team together. We would have been great.
Do you remember the very cold winter when a severe hailstorm left a two-inch-thick crust of ice on top of several feet of snow, and we could skate everywhere? (It’s stupid, I know, to ask if you remember. You remember everything.) We weren’t limited to a small patch of ice on the Ottawa River that we had cleared to make a rink. One afternoon you and I and a couple of other guys decided to just put our arms out like wings and let the wind blow us along on top of the hard crusted snow.We travelled a few miles like that heading east on the river. It was so much fun! We gave no thought to how we would get back. But eventually we realized we better turn around and head home. What a surprise it was to find that we could not face into the wind and return. We had to lie down on our backs, dig our skates into the ice and push ourselves backwards towards our starting point. It took us so long to make headway. At one point you were crying because you thought we wouldn’t be able to get back home before dark. But we finally made it, relieved and tired and cold. That could have turned out differently.
As Margaret and I were driving into Pembroke last week, we passed by the large hill behind the hospital. My mind went back to the time when Uncle Charlie sent us Doreen and Marie’s old skis and we used them to ski down that hill. We didn’t know yet how to twist and turn our way down the hill; we just pointed the skis straight ahead and flew down until we came do a stop. We must have fallen several times, but I don’t remember that. I just remember how much fun it was.
I was glad when we both had bicycles and could ride around town that way. Once we even joined a few of our friends and rode our bikes down past the five-mile crossing and all the way to Westmeath, maybe even as far as Cobden. I am enjoying right now recalling these happy times as I write to you.
The summer after my first year at the Brothers’ training college I came home and got a job at the sawmill. We were both assigned to work on the sorting table; you were much better at that than I was. One day Dad came down to show me how to do that job, butI couldn’t make the decisions fast enough and the slabs would pile up. They gave me another job working for Freddie Wendt loading lumber into boxcars. That turned out to be my last summer at home with you and the rest of the family.
Your life turned out to be a difficult one, Herb. The chronic depression that you could not shake robbed you of the kind of future you must have been hoping for. Having a regular job, getting married and starting a family of your own, all of that was not to be. You would have to live with this cloud that blocked the sun of a normal existence. But that did not keep you from finding a way to contribute to the happiness of others, helping to make their lives better. Mom and Dad came to depend on you for help with many of the things they found it difficult to do in their later years. And I don’t think Mom would have been able to continue to live in her own home after Dad died without your government pension to supplement her own. Later you and Uncle Leo would live there together for some years after Mom was gone. You made a difference in the lives of others. In your quiet, subdued manner you were a dependable presence anda faithful companion. I remember the time you and Mom came to Toronto on the bus to spend a few days with us when we lived in Scarborough. She would never have been able to make that trip without you.
And now you are gone. I find it hard to write those words. Death is so final. All the FaceTimes that the staff at Marianhill arranged for us, they are over. It was always so good to see your face as well as hear your voice. However, I will forever carry the memory of my last day with you, this past Wednesday in the Pembroke hospital. Life was visibly draining out of you with each passing hour, but you were still able to open your eyes and open your mouth as I slowly lifted each spoonful of your pureed supper to your lips. This would be your last supper, but you had not yet lost your ability to enjoy the taste of food. You particularly enjoyed the applesauce for dessert. When that was finished, in a very clear voice you said, “ginger ale.” You didn’t need to say, “Could I please have some ginger ale now?” Those two words on the last full day of a man’s life were more than enough. As soon as I told the nurse about your request, she immediately went off to get what you wanted. Perhaps she sensed better than I how close you were to the end of your journey. I took delight in watching you draw each sip of ginger ale through that straw. I knew how good it tasted.
Before leaving after your supper, I suggested we say a few prayers together. With your weekend voice you joined in every word of the Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory be. I watched your lips as you formed each syllable. I am so glad I thought of making that suggestion. The memory of that tender moment will stay with me till the end of my own days.
I love you, Herb. You were a great brother.
Austin
Peacefully at Marianhill Residence, Pembroke on Thursday November 10, 2002 at the age of 88 years. Herbert Small of Pembroke dear brother of Austin (Phil) Small (Margaret) and the late Mary Dulong (late James). Loving uncle to Michelle, Christine, Jim, Andy, Dan, Brenda, Gail, Glen and Marsha. Son of the late William James and Elizabeth (nee Devlin) Small.
A Funeral Mass will be celebrated on Monday morning at 10:30 a.m. in St. Columbkille’s Cathedral, Pembroke. Interment St. Columba’s Cemetery.
A sincere thank you to Dr. Needham and the staff of 3RD Medical of the Pembroke Regional Hospital and the staff at Marianhill for the care and compassion shown to our brother.
In memory of Herbert, donations to Marianhill would be appreciated. Arrangements entrusted to the Murphy Funeral Home, Pembroke.
Dear Herb,
You were six feet, two inches tall, but for most of your life you were one of God’s little ones. In your late teens you drifted into some form of mental illness and were never able to escape from that depressed state. Shock treatments merely left you with a strong desire to stay away from places where they did that to people. I know that these have helped some people, but they were not for you.
When I think of our early years, before your illness, I recall the times we used to play catch together. We bought a catcher’s mitt and one regular baseball glove and often pretended we were in a game where you were the catcher and I was the pitcher. I wish we had been on a real team together. We would have been great.
Do you remember the very cold winter when a severe hailstorm left a two-inch-thick crust of ice on top of several feet of snow, and we could skate everywhere? (It’s stupid, I know, to ask if you remember. You remember everything.) We weren’t limited to a small patch of ice on the Ottawa River that we had cleared to make a rink. One afternoon you and I and a couple of other guys decided to just put our arms out like wings and let the wind blow us along on top of the hard crusted snow.We travelled a few miles like that heading east on the river. It was so much fun! We gave no thought to how we would get back. But eventually we realized we better turn around and head home. What a surprise it was to find that we could not face into the wind and return. We had to lie down on our backs, dig our skates into the ice and push ourselves backwards towards our starting point. It took us so long to make headway. At one point you were crying because you thought we wouldn’t be able to get back home before dark. But we finally made it, relieved and tired and cold. That could have turned out differently.
As Margaret and I were driving into Pembroke last week, we passed by the large hill behind the hospital. My mind went back to the time when Uncle Charlie sent us Doreen and Marie’s old skis and we used them to ski down that hill. We didn’t know yet how to twist and turn our way down the hill; we just pointed the skis straight ahead and flew down until we came do a stop. We must have fallen several times, but I don’t remember that. I just remember how much fun it was.
I was glad when we both had bicycles and could ride around town that way. Once we even joined a few of our friends and rode our bikes down past the five-mile crossing and all the way to Westmeath, maybe even as far as Cobden. I am enjoying right now recalling these happy times as I write to you.
The summer after my first year at the Brothers’ training college I came home and got a job at the sawmill. We were both assigned to work on the sorting table; you were much better at that than I was. One day Dad came down to show me how to do that job, butI couldn’t make the decisions fast enough and the slabs would pile up. They gave me another job working for Freddie Wendt loading lumber into boxcars. That turned out to be my last summer at home with you and the rest of the family.
Your life turned out to be a difficult one, Herb. The chronic depression that you could not shake robbed you of the kind of future you must have been hoping for. Having a regular job, getting married and starting a family of your own, all of that was not to be. You would have to live with this cloud that blocked the sun of a normal existence. But that did not keep you from finding a way to contribute to the happiness of others, helping to make their lives better. Mom and Dad came to depend on you for help with many of the things they found it difficult to do in their later years. And I don’t think Mom would have been able to continue to live in her own home after Dad died without your government pension to supplement her own. Later you and Uncle Leo would live there together for some years after Mom was gone. You made a difference in the lives of others. In your quiet, subdued manner you were a dependable presence anda faithful companion. I remember the time you and Mom came to Toronto on the bus to spend a few days with us when we lived in Scarborough. She would never have been able to make that trip without you.
And now you are gone. I find it hard to write those words. Death is so final. All the FaceTimes that the staff at Marianhill arranged for us, they are over. It was always so good to see your face as well as hear your voice. However, I will forever carry the memory of my last day with you, this past Wednesday in the Pembroke hospital. Life was visibly draining out of you with each passing hour, but you were still able to open your eyes and open your mouth as I slowly lifted each spoonful of your pureed supper to your lips. This would be your last supper, but you had not yet lost your ability to enjoy the taste of food. You particularly enjoyed the applesauce for dessert. When that was finished, in a very clear voice you said, “ginger ale.” You didn’t need to say, “Could I please have some ginger ale now?” Those two words on the last full day of a man’s life were more than enough. As soon as I told the nurse about your request, she immediately went off to get what you wanted. Perhaps she sensed better than I how close you were to the end of your journey. I took delight in watching you draw each sip of ginger ale through that straw. I knew how good it tasted.
Before leaving after your supper, I suggested we say a few prayers together. With your weekend voice you joined in every word of the Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory be. I watched your lips as you formed each syllable. I am so glad I thought of making that suggestion. The memory of that tender moment will stay with me till the end of my own days.
I love you, Herb. You were a great brother.
Austin